


Scars

by missdewey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-29
Updated: 2006-07-29
Packaged: 2018-10-01 02:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10178783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdewey/pseuds/missdewey
Summary: Draco Malfoy has many scars. Harry POV.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

**I. Draco's Scars**

There is a scar on his forehead. Nothing obvious, like the lightening-shaped curse scar that made me so bloody famous, but a thin white line just below the hairline, so small and pale that it would be invisible to anyone who wasn’t looking for it. I still remember the look of annoyance on his face when he banged his head against the bathroom sink in the pursuit of a better position while I sucked him off. That was in the early days of our relationship, when neither of us had the patience to make it to the bedroom every time. I lean down and place a tender kiss against the tiny scar. He murmurs something in his sleep, but doesn’t wake.

Across his face and chest are several more fine white lines. I am far from fond of these, having put them there myself in sixth year. He has long since forgiven me for that hex, but deep down I don’t really want to be forgiven. The memory of blood swirling with water on the floor around his body still makes my heart jump and my face flush with shame and guilt. I trace each line gently with a fingertip, whispering silent apologies at every touch.

On his left arm is a scar of a different sort, intricate and intentionally created. A hollow-eyed skull with a serpent tongue, twisting and writhing around. It has faded to a light shade of red since Voldemort’s death, but he worries that it will never disappear altogether. At first this thought upset me, but I’ve grown used to it over the years, even coming to almost like it. He wouldn’t be himself without this scar, just as I wouldn’t be myself without mine. There’s a twisted sort of comfort in the idea that we’ve both been marked by darkness and survived; it’s almost as if it were meant to be, somehow. I place another kiss here.

Curling around the curve of his hip, my hands find another mark. Unlike the others, this scar is long and thick, a shining band of silver against his pale skin. I don’t know what caused this one. I asked him once, but he looked away and mumbled that he couldn’t remember. Sometimes, when he thinks I’m not watching, I see him tracing his fingers over this line through his clothes.

The last scars are on his back. I can’t see them while he’s sleeping like this, but I’ve touched them often enough to memorize each line. They were made by his father the night before he died; he’d whipped his son brutally, beating him until he lost consciousness. I shudder to think what would have happened had we not gotten to him in time. Surely he would have died for betraying his family and their master. Instead, he’d been carried to safety in Remus’ strong arms as his ancestral home burned to the ground around us all.

I brush my fingers gently against his cheek. I’m desperate to feel that cool skin, to remind myself that, after all, he made it out alive. He stirs, looking up at me through hooded grey eyes. “Harry?” he asks, his voice thick with sleep.

“Shh,” I say, leaning down to place a kiss against his lips. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay,” he says. He pulls me down into his embrace. “But you should be sleeping.”

I curl against him, enjoying the warm safety of his body wrapped around mine. “Draco?”

“Mmm?”

“I love you.”

I feel him smile against me in the darkness.


End file.
